I've Got Your Nose!
by pollicem
Summary: In which we discover Voldemort's true reasons for wanting to kill Harry Potter.  Parody.


"No no no no no!" Harry yelled, trying to escape from his captors' grasps. He was being carried through the Riddle Mansion by black-robed, white-masked Death Eaters. "You foul, cowardly slaves! Unhand me immediately! You'll rue the day!"

Surprisingly obedient, the Death Eaters immediately deposited him unceremoniously on a mildewy couch. Gross.

Voldemort swept into the expansive room. He wore a long, elegant black robe, looking extravagant and graceful as ever. Until you looked at his face. It no longer possessed anything resembling the charisma and charm of Tom Riddle. Where Riddle had been illustrious and glowing, Voldemort looked like a withered potato when you cooked it too long in the microwave.

"I liked you better when you were younger!" Potter yelled out viciously as he struggled to rise from the smelly couch. With a wave of Voldemort's hand, the couch's arms became living tendrils and enveloped Harry, immobilizing him.

Voldemort came over to Harry. "Yes," he whispered. "Thought Tom Riddle was handsome, didn't you, Potter. Thought he was beautiful. Alluring."

Harry spat in his face.

"Feisty, aren't we..." Voldemort didn't even blink as he wiped his cheek with a cleaning charm that left a smell of Dawn Apple BlossomTM. "We'll train you yet, my pretty! And your little dog, too!" Then Voldemort did something he'd done only once before. He touched Harry's cheek. And then his long, skeletal fingers grabbed Harry's nose and pulled.

Voldemort peeled away from Harry, laughing maniacally. "GOT YOUR NOSE!" He yelled. "I've finally GOT YOUR NOSE!" He sighed in phantasmagorical wonder as he gazed at his hand, his thumb wedged between his first two fingers in mockery of the childhood game. "Now I won't look like such a fool in all those godawful movies the Muggles seem intent on filming. Because I've GOT YOUR NOSE HARRY POTTER! Muahahahahaha."

"What?" Harry looked at Voldemort in utter contempt. What a lunatic. Then Harry reached up with his hand (it had been momentarily released by the Couch of Wonders) to touch his face. "My- My nose!" he said, tears running down his cheeks. "I- It's gone! You took my nose!"

"Why did you think I was trying to chase you all those years, you stupid boy? I didn't ever mean to kill you! Why would I, the Great and Powerful Wizard of All Things, put any store in a stupid prophecy, especially one by your deranged teacher? No, I never wanted you dead. I thought I would make you a Horcrux, after I killed your parents, but then my spell rebounded, and then I needed a body, but my new body was incomplete. UNTIL NOW!" Then Voldemort reached his fist to his face, and with a slightly sickening _pop_, Harry saw that his nose had been incongruously attached to his worst enemy.

"You bastard," Harry hissed venomously. "You killed my parents, you killed Sirius, you ruined my life, and now you _stole my nose so that you can look pretty for some movies_?" Harry struggled to stand, but the Couch held him down. "What about _me_ looking pretty? You always seem to conveniently forget about what I want! Well let me tell you, Voldie, I WANT MY NOSE BACK."

"Well that's too bad! You can't have it." Voldemort examined himself in a mirror he'd conjured. "It needs a little bit of filing, so it can blend a little bit more with my face. But I feel pretty, oh so pretty. I feel pretty, and witty, and -"

"You'll never be as pretty as I was, you conceited thief! Now give me back my nose before I sic Dumbledore on you."

Voldemort stopped his twirling in the center of the room to fix his icy red eyes on Harry. "Dumbledore. Is. Dead. Neither he, nor you, will ever kill me. I, on the other hand have no compunctions-"

Harry sprung up from the Couch- the power of love allowed him to escape from its clutches, and right then he was thinking of the teenaged Tom Riddle. "Voldemort, it's always about 'I'. Well, I- I will survive! As long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive!" And with that triumphant cry, Harry deftly grabbed his wand out of a nearby Death Eater's grasp and turned on the Dark Lord. "_Accio_ nose!"

"It's attached to me, Potter! It has betrayed you like everyone else you've ever loved! You can't even keep your own body in control!" But then Voldemort noticed the oddest thing. The boy he was lecturing suddenly had a nose again, and was sprinting out of the room, his lean seeker's body eluding the woefully sluggish hands of his Death Eaters. Voldemort found himself overcome with sadness. "Woe is me! Woe is me! My nose is gone! I wither away into dust!" He collapsed, inconsolable, in a sobbing black heap on the yellowed carpet, reminiscent of a slightly squished bumble bee.

All he ever wanted was a nose, and Potter's was so perfect. Was a nose too much to ask for? Really?


End file.
